


Do the Crime, Do the Time

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Awkward cuddles, Cussing, Gen, Herc Hansen briefly, Pre-Slash If You Squint, fluff and snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: Chuck and Raleigh completely accidentally have a massive food fight in the mess hall, at which point Herc, who has more than had enough of their ridiculousness, sends them both to their separate rooms, grounded like naughty children. The sadistic bastard even refuses to let Chuck take Max with him, which should be against the old Geneva conventions.Thus, when Raleigh shows up at his door with teeth-gritting determination to follow the good marshal's galling instructions -- given only to Raleigh, leaving Chuck completely in the dark....Things. Go. Awry.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xero_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xero_Sky/gifts).



> This one's for Xero Sky, who's having a bad day. Here. Have some goofy fluff?

Grounded. Fucking grounded like a fucking teenager, which Chuck Hansen most definitely was not. And all because of a simple misunderstanding.

And maybe a few punches, but that was beside the point.

His asshole of a father had even denied him the comfort of his goddamn dog, claiming that sending him to his room with his best friend was far from a punishment. The ratbag. Worse, he'd ordered Tendo to cut all signal from Chuck's desk array, incoming or outgoing. What the fuck was he supposed to do all night? Stare at the bloody useless wall?

Because fine. He'd stare at the bloody wall until it fucking crumbled.

Raleigh Fucking Becket. This was all that wanker's fault.

Even Mako had washed her hands of them at this point, appalled that even saving the goddamn world hadn't done much to bury the animosity. Chuck tried to explain once that he didn't _hate_ the rotten sod. He just had no earthly use for him and saw no point in pretending otherwise. As far as he could tell, the feeling was pretty goddamn mutual.

So what? The world was already saved. They didn't have to try to get along anymore. _Live and let live way the fuck away from me,_ Chuck had always said.

But... the mess hall. The... slight contretemps.

The massive. Fucking. Food fight.

His only consolation was that Fucking Becket was just as grounded as Chuck was. The wanker had been just as childish and had received exactly the same sentence. It would almost have been funny to watch the bloke take Herc's disgusted chiding, but Chuck had been on the same goddamn wrong side of the desk and had received pretty much the same hashing.

So, he felt no shame in admitting that he was pouting. Arms crossed, propped up on pillows back against his headboard, staring at the wall, and goddamn pouting. He'd earned it. This was the most bullshit punishment in the history of bullshit punishments.

He was _so bored._

A noise intruded on his brooding, and he frowned as he shifted his focus from the stupid fucking wall to his door. That was... the muted beeping of someone entering his door code. Had Herc maybe relented? Was he maybe at least bringing Max by so Chuck could have a little unconditional love whilst banished to his goddamn room?

The door opened, and Chuck's jaw dropped when a head that was decidedly neither scruffy nor ginger popped through the crack.

Raleigh. Fucking. Becket.

Weirdly appalled, Chuck was too affronted to even sit up. "How the fuck did you get my door code?"

Looking just as jaw-clenched and annoyed as Chuck, the wanker shoved the door open a bit further and stepped all the way inside, then... what the fuck? Closed the door behind him?

Just fucking great. Now they were _both_ locked in.

"Seriously, Becket, what the fuck?"

Gritting his teeth, the ratbag rolled his shoulders, fists clenched at his side. "Your father, the goddamn _marshal,_ gave me a one-use code. I have... instructions."

Jesus. Christ.

In a broken-down jaeger with a missing leg and a kaiju fist up its ass.

What the bloody fuck was Herc thinking?

As if he agreed with whatever incredulous look was on Chuck's face, the wanker nodded once. "Brace yourself. This ain't gonna be pretty."

"What the--"

But before he could ask, the daft fuck strode forward, stepped one foot up on the foot of Chuck's bed, and _fucking launched himself._

Chuck didn't even have time to throw his hands up to block before two hundred and twenty pounds of lean meat fell on him, a rock-hard head socking up under his chin and making him bite his goddamn tongue. All his air blasted out of him, and he knew he should probably put up some kind of guard, but frankly, he was too poleaxed to do much more than starfish and hope for the best.

Silence.

It took perhaps a full minute for Chuck to get his wind back and to realize the crazy wanker had done nothing but wrap his arms in a deathgrip around Chuck's ribs and... brace for impact.

Much like Chuck had.

Huh.

"Uh... Becket?"

A grunt. But, unless he missed his guess, it was at least a questioning grunt.

"Wuh... um... what are you doing?"

"Following orders."

He blinked. How could body-slamming him and trying to squeeze his ribs to kindling -- which was honestly becoming more than a bit uncomfortable -- possibly be Herc's orders?

"Orders to do what, exactly?"

"Promise me you won't punch me in the head if I tell you."

Grunting, he glared down at the stupid floof of blond hair shoved up against his chin. "How about I punch you in the fucking head if you _don't_ tell me right this fucking second?"

"...You drive a hard bargain."

Against his better judgment, he snorted. It was enough, though, that the rotten sod eased up his clench, and Chuck was able to draw a full breath.

"Herc said, and I quote, 'You tried the kick in the ass. So you're not coming out of your bunk until you've tried a goddamn hug.'"

Reduced to blinking again, he wondered if this was what Striker had felt like as that EMP burst shut him down. Sort of staticky and blank at the same time. Because... seriously?

"Ray, do you mean to tell me this is your idea of a goddamn cuddle? A fucking flying tackle out of nowhere?"

The skin of the wanker's cheek heated against the hollow of Chuck's throat. "Shut up. I've had a hard life."

"Oh, my-- get the fuck off me, ya wanker. The fuck is wrong with you?"

Giving up on the starfish pose that he now realized had been little more than a failed attempt to puff up and appear larger in the face of a threat, he shoved at the mass of American idiot sprawled over him. Unfortunately, it refused to budge.

"Oi, what the fuck, Ray? This was even dumber than Dad's idea to shoot a flare gun at a Category IV, and it's getting weird now. Get off."

But the wanker didn't get off. In fact, the wanker didn't move so much as an inch, despite all of Chuck's shoving and prodding. And he couldn't get any fucking leverage with the heavy bastard weighing him down.

"Goddammit, Becket, I said move!"

"Honestly?"

Did he just... what the... was that a goddamn _nuzzle?_

"You're pretty comfortable, for all that you're a giant prick."

Wordless, Chuck could only stare. At this point, he couldn't even blink.

"Smell good, too. What soap do you use? It's not PPDC-issue. That's for damn sure."

Another. Fucking. Nuzzle.

Thrown completely off at this point, he reached for his righteous fury but was too nonplussed to find it. "Becket?"

"Hm?"

"Did... did Dad really tell you to come in here and cuddle me?"

"Mm-hm." The nuzzling was really distracting. "Changed my door code and wouldn't let me out until I agreed."

Distracting but... maybe okay? The bloke's breath was warm on the skin of his throat. And now that the silly fuck wasn't trying to crush his ribs, all that weight was... not so bad, maybe?

"And you thought the best way to do that was a flying leap?"

The nuzzling was nice. The chuckle was nicer still. "I couldn't think of any other way to get within arm's reach without starting another fight."

He chuckled himself, then blinked in surprise. What the hell was he even doing? And what the fuck did he do with his hands now that the wanker wouldn't be budged and Chuck wasn't sure he even wanted him to anymore?

Hesitant, he slowly settled them on the bloke's broad back, just below the shoulder blades. Another nuzzle suggested Becket didn't mind the new placement, so he... left them there.

"So... how long are you supposed to hug me for?"

A vocalization that somehow meant "I dunno" rumbled in the silly bastard's throat. Chuck rolled his eyes and tried to relax. Apparently, this ridiculousness wouldn't be over any time soon.

"Seriously, Chuck. What is that? Is it... bamboo?"

His cheeks heated, and he shifted awkwardly, unable to move much under the daft wanker's bulk. "Shut up. It's Mako's fault."

The cheek mashed up against his throat moved, and he had no doubt that Raleigh Fucking Becket was grinning damn near ear to ear.

"She gave you bamboo-scented soap and you actually use it?"

"Shut up!"

Snickering, the rotten sod nuzzled him again and gave him a gentle squeeze around the ribs. "Oh, calm down. I said it smells good."

Muttering, he debated thwapping the wanker on the back of the head. "And it's bamboo and jasmine, not just bamboo." Mutter mutter. "Fucking heathen."

The stupid cheek moved again. "Well, it's nice. I like it."

"Whatever."

They remained in surprisingly not-uncomfortable silence for a while. Strangely, though he wasn't doing anything more than what he'd been doing before, Chuck wasn't bored. In fact, he was tempted to... maybe... talk to the silly sod. See if maybe they could have a real conversation without resorting to punches or flying globs of mashed potato.

So, gearing himself up, he opened his mouth just as the cheeky wanker sprawling over him let out the softest, tiniest snore.

Raleigh Becket, insomniac extraordinaire who had shown up to more than one brekkie looking about as well-rested as a highly caffeinated zombie... was asleep on Chuck Hansen's chest. Jesus. Was... was the poor bastard really that tired?

Or was Chuck actually as comfortable as the bloke had so surprisingly admitted earlier?

Another quiet little snore, and Becket somehow snuggled closer, squishing his face up under Chuck's jaw. It was... ah, to hell with it.

It was stupidly adorable.

Which was how, an hour or so later, Chuck Hansen found himself actively shushing his own old man, who strode in to check on them only to find his contrary son contentedly running work-roughened fingers through his sleeping rival's soft, floofy hair. Whispering even with his exasperation at the outsized shock on Herc's face, Chuck told him to mind his goddamn business and leave them alone. They obviously wouldn't be brawling any more tonight.

And when Herc left, gobsmacked but finally starting to grin a bit as he closed the door behind him -- _not_ locking it, Chuck couldn't help but notice -- Chuck... just settled back. Sure, he could make a break for it.

But he'd wake Raleigh up in the fuss, and that would be a real shame.

So he stayed put, running his fingers through the bloke's stupid, soft hair and listening to the stupidly adorable little snores until he, too, fell asleep.

It was the best sleep he'd had in years.

**THE END**


End file.
